Whatever Sunshine Wants
by SydnieWren
Summary: Shinji has always been a fool in love. ShinjixIchigo. Oral, anal.


**Hey folks! This is just some summery smut. More and more, I like writing with Shinji! I hope you guys like it too, and that your summers are going well! I know some of you said in reviews you'd prefer Ichigo a touch less submissive, and that's something I tried to work in here.  
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**Warnings: Oral, Anal, Dirty Talk  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own.  
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Under normal conditions Ichigo would never have consented to sweat-soaked, blood-tinged make out sessions pressed against desert rock formations. But sparring with Shinji was twice as disorienting as the shimmer of the heat on the boundless horizons, and though Ichigo never intended to wind up breathing hard under the blonde's wandering hands, it always seemed to happen that way. Each time he would assure himself that the time before had been some kind of fluke, that Shinji only did it to throw off his defenses and prepare him for the bizarre tactics Aizen was wont to employ, and each time, it didn't matter.

Shinji batted his hand away from the hilt of his sword and sucked his lower lip between his teeth. Ichigo scowled as best he could, eyeing his sword with a sidelong glance as it lay in the sand.

"We – should – finish – practice –" he panted, a ragged groan following as Shinji licked a train from the corner of his lips to the shell of his ear.

"We're done," Shinji rasped. Ichigo could practically feel his wolfish grin.

"Fuck, Shinji," he hissed, yanking free the loosened silver tie with a rough tug. The vizard ground hard against him, pressing his clothed erection against a sharp adolescent hip.

"Yeah?" he growled, "You wanna? Let's go."

Ichigo's kosode was torn open and tugged off of his shoulders before he comprehended what the blonde had been referring to.

"Shinji –"

The white belt joined his sword in the sand, and his hakama came loose around his hips.

"Wait –"

Shinji's hands slipped beneath the black material rapidly sliding down Ichigo's legs and cupped his dripping sex and tightened balls through the thin fabric of his underwear. Ichigo cut off an involuntary moan with the last of his resolve, and slammed his forehead into Shinji's.

"Fuck!" the blonde howled, stumbling back; Ichigo used the spare space to gather his hakama back up to his waist. "What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"I said to fucking wait!" the redhead shouted back, "You didn't fucking listen!"

"Wait for what?" Shinji demanded, now recovering from the temporary blurring of his vision. A dull pain throbbed at his temples, which he assumed would sharpen into a fierce headache as the day wore on.

Ichigo stalled, trying to regain his composure. Luckily it was slightly easier for him to recover from the knock to his head than from the arousal that had previously forestalled all his efforts at thinking.

"Look," he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, "I told you: I don't wanna, I mean, this isn't the time or place to – to do that, okay? If you wanna go down on me, or, or –-"

"Ha!" Shinji interjected, "If I wanna go down on you, eh? Lucky fucking me, eh! Ain't that a bitch! You could at least put sixty-nining on the table if you're feeling magnanimous!"

"If I'm feeling _what_? Listen, I just…" He tipped his head back and sighed, slumping against the rock.

Shinji, meanwhile, was similarly disenchanted with this recurrent situation: each sparring session seemed to conclude with the same heated kisses, the same thrill of expectation, and the same frustrated arousal.

"Wish I knew what the roadblock was here," he sighed, throwing his hands up. "Maybe you just need to, I don't know, train with somebody else for a while."

"Wait!" Ichigo called, taking a step forward as Shinji turned to head back to base. He was hindered significantly by his loose hakama, still hanging from his hips.

"Getting pretty tired of hearing that out of you," the blonde warned, glancing over his shoulder. "What? Make it quick. I've got a date with my sword hand I don't wanna be late to."

"Can we just, like, take it slow?"

"Is it the whole getting fucked thing that's throwing you off?" Shinji attempted, turning on his heel to approach the half-naked teen again. As he walked he plucked open the buttons of his shirt; Ichigo gulped and tried not to stare. Shinji was a relaxed person and generally reliable, but in certain moods he looked positively predatory.

"Not exactly…" Ichigo muttered.

"But?" Shinji grinned and cracked his knuckles, drawing close again without the faintest suggestion of reservations. Ichigo wondered if he had finally succeeded in giving the older man a concussion.

"Just take it easy," he ground out haltingly, distracted by callused fingertips focusing so much attention on his nipples.

"'Cause if that's it," Shinji went on as though he hadn't heard a word, "then I'm game. No hang-ups on this end. You just say the word, sunshine, and I'll let you stick it right –"

"Do you ever shut up?" Ichigo growled, threading his fingers in blonde hair as if to suggest another frontal assault. Shinji smirked and shrugged, lowering his head to mark the other's neck with a succession of blossoming red bruises.

He figured that his chances of passing second base were slim to none based on past experience, and calculated his actions to bolster them as best he could. Never a man to be dissuaded by pride, he dropped to a kneel, dragging his fingertips down the other's slender body, passing over scrapes and bruises and the swell of his abdominal muscles, trailing nails over the sharp jut of his hips.

Slowly, hesitantly, Ichigo released the black fabric twisted in his hand, and Shinji tugged his hakama all the way down, followed by his underwear. He could feel dark eyes fixed on him as his long fingers circled the base of the other's sex, steadying it against his heavy breathing. A hitch came in that breathing when the tip of Shinji's tongue dipped into the narrow slit at the head of Ichigo's sex, collecting the clear fluid that had begun to well there during their earlier contact. Shinji grinned.

Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to Shinji that he had flatly rejected the idea of going down on Ichigo mere moments ago, and yet there he was, his tongue slipping beneath the head of the teen's sex to slide that metal stud against his most sensitive skin. The redhead moaned, Shinji took his sex further in, and did not stop until the tip brushed the back of his throat.

Ichigo had to hand it to the man: he gave amazing head even when he wasn't putting his tongue stud to use. He sucked fervently, the smooth insides of his cheeks dragging along the shaft of Ichigo's cock as he drew back. Ichigo screwed his eyes shut and moaned, desperately trying to hold off on coming for even a moment longer.

"Spread 'em," Shinji demanded huskily, and without a thought, the other obeyed. His eyes shot open when he felt the tip of a slick finger against his entrance, but Shinji took the head of his cock between his lips again, and what was meant to be a protest emerged as a broken whine.

The sensation of Shinji's middle finger sinking deeper and deeper inside of him wrought a shudder from Ichigo, but nothing more. The blond kept a weary eye on him lest he decide, on a dime, that he'd had enough. But the other seemed lost, for the moment at least, in pleasure; a warm flush had spread over his chest and cheeks, blending rosily with his building sunburn. His lips were parted and his tongue worried the lower one incessantly as he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep his voice down. Shinji rewarded his patience with a bob of his head, again trailing the cool metal stud up the underside of his sex.

When his knuckles came to rest against Ichigo, Shinji experimentally crooked his finger, searching for that sensitive gland he hoped would convince the boy to relax. He knew he had found it when Ichigo's cock pulsed against his tongue, followed by a sharp cry – Shinji pulled back instantly and tightened his grip on him, barely averting his climax.

"Why," Ichigo half-panted, half-sobbed, "why'd you, why'd you stop?"

"Just a minute," Shinji mumbled, dropping his hand from Ichigo's sex down to his own fly, where he made short work of the button and zipper.

A second finger joined the first, and Ichigo ground his teeth together but did not protest. Sweat dripped from his slack jaw onto his chest, and formed streaks in the sand and blood accumulated on his chest. Shinji kneaded his thigh and teased the tip of his cock with feathery kisses as he finished the work of relaxing his muscles.

"Ready?" he breathed at length, not entirely certain that he would last much longer even if the answer was no. Ichigo swallowed thickly, peered down at him and shrugged, muttering something like 'yeah, fine' before looking away again. The fingers withdrew, and the boy shivered.

Shinji rose, slicking his sex with more saliva than he'd normally think necessary – but then again, Ichigo wanted slow and easy, and he was closer than he'd been before to paradise.

His eyes searched Ichigo's as he pulled the boy against him.

"Ready?"

"I said I was," came the husky, slightly cracked reply.

"Just checking," Shinji paused. "We can stop, y'know."

"You want to stop?" Ichigo seemed confused, hesitant.

"Hell no," Shinji snapped, and then, softer: "Just checking."

He gathered Ichigo close, and the boy circled his shoulders with his arms, linking them behind his neck. A sure hand slid beneath his thigh, and Ichigo brought it up to drape over the blonde's hip, gaining purchase against the stone. The other leg followed, and Shinji was fully supporting both their weight as though it was nothing at all. The tip of his sex rested against Ichigo's thoroughly prepared entrance, and though he had readied himself to ease in little by little, the redhead angled his body and, with a forceful jerk of his thighs, sheathed Shinji to the hilt.

A choked moan erupted from the collected captain, and he found himself panting the boy's name.

"Easy there," he managed between incoherent guttural sounds. Ichigo worked his shirt free and slid it off his shoulders; from there, they were pressed flush against one another, skin to skin, sweat to sweat.

Somehow Shinji managed to brush Ichigo's prostate with every thrust; the effect was maddening, and had the younger lingering excruciatingly on the verge of orgasm. His thighs were vice-like on Shinji's hips, and his body pulsed erratically around him, drawing out long, throaty moans.

"Come," Shinji rasped, "come for me, Ichigo, mm –-"

Ichigo's back arched sharply and Shinji struggled to keep his grip; the teen squeezed his eyes tightly shut and wailed as milky white seed spilled over his stomach, coating his midsection thoroughly. He licked his lips, cock still twitching against his belly, and the sight of it easily surpassed all Shinji's most salacious fantasies.

A final series of deep, hard thrusts signaled his climax, and it was an intense one. The pressure that had been building in him for the better part of an hour finally broke free, sending searing bursts of pleasure coursing through Shinji's veins. He groaned, thrusting weakly even after he had filled Ichigo completely, finally coming to a halt with a last sigh.

"Hot damn, Ichigo," he murmured, laying his forehead against the boy's chest. It was then that he was reminded of the pain of his earlier injury along with the bruise that was rapidly forming there. He couldn't even summon the strength to scowl, but he reminded himself to do so later.

"Let me down," the other murmured. Shinji obliged, lowering him carefully to his feet. He swayed slightly for a moment before regaining his balance, though Shinji was slightly distressed to see him wince.

"Wasn't so bad, eh?" he inquired cockily, scooping his shirt and tie up off the ground. Ichigo frowned.

"Shut up," he grunted, "don't get so full of yourself."

And Shinji had it in mind to make a clever comment about exactly _who_ was full of _what_, but instead he carefully lifted Ichigo's kosode out of the sand, shook it out, and draped it over the redhead's sunburnt shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah," he smiled, running his fingers affectionately through ruffled orange hair.

He wanted to do this again, after all.

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**Thanks for the read! **


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